have I mentioned how glad I am the fog came in?
summer. either the fog is in and you rejoice or the fog is out and all your attention is turned toward the ocean reaching for the fog.
well. if you're me. if you're someone else you might actually like the 80F degrees that come with our paradoxically hot but mercifully periodical north wind.
me I like the fog.
there are still twenty-one penny rolls piled neatly in that triangular order of a certain number under a certain number minus one under a certain number minus two and so on. I keep counting them not because I don't know how many there are but because they invite counting from one flickering spot to the next each flicker not exactly like the last but enough like the last that it counts in the series as one in a series of something countable. counting again and again as though to say to oneself again and again they are there just right there just within grasp and moments later counting begins anew as though they were twenty-two.
were they a field of one thousand. miraculous instance.
I noticed the heft and suddenly felt the urge to reinvent the wheel. metal and its attraction to mostly metal. what could it mean.
what could it mean.
what precisely exactly and only what.
I smeared myself with mud once it was urgent.
to pass along from the point at which particularity multiplies under pain of particularity drinking its anonymity like morphine.
this one and this one and this one and this one.
not alike in animality but punctual and raw.
courtesy is not enough.